


Stephanie Brown, Fastest Blonde In The West

by MilitechMatty



Series: The Alternate Adventures Of The Gotham Girl Gang [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Monster Hunter!Steph, Monster of the Week, Wild West AU, cowboy time, gotta wrangle them critters, my friend spoon has been streaming a lot of hunt: showdown recently, yee and you know what I'm gonna say haw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilitechMatty/pseuds/MilitechMatty
Summary: Stephanie Brown is a hunter, but not of men. Of monsters. Join the Fastest Blonde In The West as she trails all over the American Frontier in 1866, freeing towns from the night terrors (and sometimes day terrors) that plague them. It's a lonely life, to be sure, but a worthwhile one and it ain't like she's got no help at all. Her horse, Bruce, is company enough as well as the rare occasions when someone in some backwater town is willing to step up to watch her back. There are things that go bump in the night and they ain't friendly, but then again, neither is Stephanie's six-shooter.
Series: The Alternate Adventures Of The Gotham Girl Gang [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543492
Kudos: 1





	Stephanie Brown, Fastest Blonde In The West

Desert plains ain't much to look at, if you ain't used to em, but over time you find they got a certain inexplicable charm you can't put your finger on. Does the soul good to get off your horse and take em all in every once in a while, even if only for a brief moment. Sun would be setting soon and I was right on the border of Texas and the territory of New Mexico. Won’t make it to California for a couple of days now. If I really push my horse Bruce, we might just find some kind of small town in New Mexico (emphasis on might).

Aw, what the hell? Worth a shot. Better'n staying here anyways. I took a swig from my now empty canteen, put away my maps and broke Bruce into an immediate gallop. Monsters would be on the prowl soon…

As luck would have it, I did find a small saloon with beds free on the upper floor. Pulled in just as the moon started to peak over the plains. I hitched Bruce and paid lodging for the night. The bartender, a fair lookin' man with scraggly hair by the name of Tim, gave me a hardy glance as he spied my guns, warned me about starting off in his "reputable establishment", but when I put down coin enough for 3 nights, he said no more about it and handed over a key, and that's where I'm at now, with my black ankle length duster jacket on the back of my door, checking over my weapons. My guns, two pistols and a shotgun. I pick up the Remington 1858 New Army. A little outdated as far as revolvers go, but I consider it to be a lucky charm, seeing as I got it on my first ever monster hunt. Tossed around like a ragdoll by a bear that was made bigger and more aggressive through a kind of ritual. Found it buried in the dirt with one bullet left. Bullet that saved my life and left me with scars on my chest 'stead of my guts. Got it cleaned and working fully again and it ain't left me since. Next, my Colt 1851 Navy. Bought and paid for, also a little out of date but works just fine in my book and when you're hunting the things I do, it don't pay to be out of bullets mid-fight, so a back-up always comes in handy. And lastly my Winchester 1866 lever action rifle. Was given this as a gift for clearing out a Bigfoot nest. Monster Fact: Bigfoots are kind as pie, just territorial is all, and they'll leave you alone so long as you do the same. This one, however, was injured by moron kids who got their hands on daddy's rifle - this same rifle that is lying in front of me at present, as it happens - and had to be put down. Good thing I was given it too, because these only hit stores a month or so ago and cost money I don't have. Monster hunting pays easy enough but I ain't gonna be building railroads any time soon. My blades, a tomahawk, gifted to me by a Native tribe I helped out with a particularly hardy zombie that was troubling them and a Bowie knife, also bought and paid for. Packing them away, I removed my boots and shirt and fell into bed. Rest tonight, find out what's plaguing this town tomorrow. The bed was a little hard for my liking but it's got a mattress, a cover and a pillow so it's practically luxury compared to my usual standards.

It was about midday when I woke. Pulled on my hat and jacket and trekked down the steps, getting some oatmeal on my way out. Gotta eat to keep my strength up. First step of any monster hunt is the people. Kids maybe see something, night owls maybe hear something. Rumours and all, but to someone like me rumours come in handy. Carry more truth than you might think and if you ask enough people, provide a full story. And the person who always knows first is the priest. Ain't much for churches m'self and most towns I come across choose to practice in the comfort of their own home but if they do got a church, priests are invaluable. "Afternoon, padre." I removed my hat and nodded as the father looked up from lighting candles. "Ah, welcome child. My name is Father Deacon. How can I be of service today?" He was a gaunt man, not quite old but definitely showing a lot of years. Looks like he could use a good steak or four. "Well I hope you don't mind me gettin' down to business so quick like but I'm not a patient woman. You see Father, to be blunt about it, I hunt down what a man of the cloth such as yourself might call creatures of Satan for a livin' and I caught wind of one such beastie in this here town. Reckon you mighta seen or heard something about that maybe?" He chuckles, and nods solemnly. "I know of what you seek and I commend your bravery. Sit with me." Father Deacon led me to a pew and pats the spot next to him, which I take. "Some days ago, one or two of our goats started to go missing. We thought it merely the work of bandits, until little Tommy Johnson finds their corpses in the nearby woods, their blood completely drained but otherwise untouched. I thought it to be the hand of Satan worshippers, gathering blood for unholy rituals, but now you arrive saying you hunt his minions for a living, I am starting to think that may be a possibility as well. Over time, more and more goats started to disappear as well as other livestock." Can't have been cultists. With a few monsters, there also happens to be those around as well and I've crossed paths with them more than once. If the goats were untouched save for blood, then they can't have been sacrifices otherwise entrails would have probably been involved too. And they don't touch livestock either. Mostly goats or cats. "Tell me Father, have people seen a lizard looking creature around?" He sits in thought a moment. "Not that I've heard, why?" I stood to leave and shook his hand. "Sounds like you have a chupacabra problem. Nasty bastards - uh, apologies for cursing - but not much trouble. I'll let you know when I'm done. Know where I can find the mayor of the town?" He points me in the right direction and I thank him. I've come across a few chupacabras in my time as a monster hunter and I'm quietly grateful. They're fast and vicious but despite their size, once you get your hands on one, or at least in close, they're no real threat. Easy money, nice and quick, in and out. I could use a break anyway. Now I've identified what I'm up against, it's time to determine how many and where.

Reaching the mayor's office, I knock on his door, being greeted with a gravelly, stuffy voice. "Come in, and make it quick!" The mayor is an obese, reddish man with a full mustache. Seems grumpy but upon seeing me, he lightens considerably. "And what can I do for you, sweetheart?" Hm. "I'm the goat inspector. Been asking around and it seems your goat content is not up to scratch. And you are?" He extends his greasy hand. "Mayor Loeb." I pick up a pen and shake his hand with that, which disgruntles him a bit but he swallows his pride. I take a seat. "So what's this about goats?" I remove my hat. "I'll get right to it then. It seems you got a problem with goats disappearing then turning up all drained of blood. For a small fee of $150, I solve problems. You see where I'm going with this?" Loeb smiles a smile that makes my skin crawl. "Oh sure! You know, it's quite fortunate that you turn up now, this goat thing has been a real thorn in our side. Town's gotta eat and all, can’t have any varmints feeding on our livestock supply and all! You take care of this and I'll pay you a… very handsome… fee, indeed." I nod, don my hat and stand up, pausing at the door. "My rate just doubled." I leave before he can protest. Like I say, chupacabras are not much of a challenge. Once you pin them down, they're not so tough. But in a pack, packs are trouble. In a pack, it's only a matter of time before a taste for goat morphs into a taste for human. They're a lot like weeds in this way. Gotta root em before they sprout further. I go back to my room and grab my satchel, some beef jerky and my binoculars. I shouldn't need my guns long as I stay back and quiet but I bring my knife and tomahawk too, just in case. Not time for hunting. Not just yet. I head out and find a group of kids playing some kinda game, not sure what. "Howdy, little ones. You wouldn't happen to know where I can find a Tommy Johnson, would ya?" A curly haired ginger boy steps forward timidly. "That'd be me, ma'am." Ma'am. Oh my god. Holy shit. "Uh, just. Just Stephanie is fine. You're the boy who found the goats, right?" He nods. "Yes, ma'am." I can't believe I'm going to stab a child. "Stephanie. Steph-an-ie. Can you take me to the place where you found them?"

"Well, I reckon they've removed the goats by now."

"Yeah, I don't care about the goats, can you just take me to the place?"

"OK."

Tommy leads me to the edge of the nearby woods, but he hesitates as I start to trek forwards. I raise an eyebrow. "I found em a couple of feet thataway. You might find blood or whatever." Aw damn. He's scared, poor guy. "Hey kiddo, it's all right. You already helped me a lot. Get gone now." He thanks me, I thank him and we split, him back to the town, me further into the woods.

The goats were indeed removed, following the drag marks and footprints until I reached the deep indents in the grass and faint smell of rotted flesh. Takes a long hard look but I eventually pick up a trail of little claw marks. Pulling out my knife, I creep forward, slow and low. It takes me an hour before I find the chupacabra nest, buried in the side of a ditch, looking like oversized rabbit holes. Climbing a tree, I took out my binoculars and waited, counting one, two, three, four, five, six chups. This is going to be… harder than I thought. They might be weaker than they look but they are still roughly the size of a small bear and their claws are just as sharp. I don't know how I feel about six but maybe I can squeeze more money out of it. I creep away back to my room to get my stuff. Shotgun loaded. Revolvers revolved. Blades sharpened. Let's do it. This time I ride to the edge of the forest. People tend to pay a little extra if you get it done quick. "Wait here, Bruce. Have an oatcake." I feed him and enter the dark woods. Again, slow and low. Quiet, out of sight, in the shadows. Recipe for success. The best thing for chupacabras is to wait until they've left for the night to feed then track em, pick em off one by one. Normally, I hate the patient approach, always preferred to go in guns blazing but shots could scare them off and in this darkness I'd lose them too quick and that's my money gone. I would just toss in some dynamite and smoke em outta there but I can't afford a forest fire either. So, the waiting game it is. Luckily, I ain't waiting too long and there they are. It's odd seeing something so large hop but they do hop. Hop on their two back legs, like some kinda… Giant… Two legged… Lizard bunny… I don't fuckin know, man cut me some slack. I shoot things, not write them poems. Ugly little things, their green scales glinting the moonlight around the trees. One heads off, sniffing the air slowly, ambling along slowly. That's it you fucker, leave those deep tracks. One by one, the others follow suit until one is left. Bigger than the others. Way bigger. He's not moving but he is sniffing for some reason. If he's got the trail, why won't he-

He smells me.

No time to waste, I charge from the bushes and leap as high as I can, letting my tomahawk drag the air behind me, hoping to catch him with it as I sail over his back. Stupid idiot I am, I missed and hit the ground rolling. I turn but it's too late and the chup rams into me with a force that doesn't match its size. I careen along the ground, scuffing up my face and I slam back first against a thick oak tree. Must have cut my forehead on a rock or something while I was tumbling too. Can feel the blood start to leak into my eye. Dropped my tomahawk. Can't use guns just yet. The others are still too close and I have enough to deal with right now so it's knifing time looks like. This time I wait for him to come to me then roll to the left and scramble up then lunge for the axe. I dance around him trying to wear him out but his lungs are bigger than mine and sure as God's got sandals, I'll go down first, so I contemplate my options and contemplate fast. I hit him in the leg and he'll lose movement but scream and alert the others. I hit him in the back, he'll be weakened over time but, again, noise. Could get under him and slice him open. Too high a chance of getting trampled, don't know if my knife can go all the way through, don't fancy getting all gutsed up. Gotta be the throat. That leaves sidestep and slice, which is risky but puts an end to this faster, or roll past then get on his back and start cutting, which is safer but leaves me open longer. You getting slow, Steph baby. Time to choose. I quit the evasion tactics and back up against the largest tree I can find. At the very least I can daze him. He knows the score and flashes his claws. I snarl back at him, all 5'1'' of dirt and blood, and tighten the grip on the tomahawk. He charges. I stand my ground. Twirl the knife in anticipation. I nearly sidestep and he rams into the tree, beginning to stumble. I jam the axe into his throat feeling the soft squish of meat and dull thunk of bone vibrate down my arm. He tries to cry out but blood just spatters onto my hand as he starts to choke. I ain't done yet, no way. I swing up onto his back and raise my knife high into the air then plunge it down, right between the eyes. I stab and stab and stab until I think my arm is gonna fall off, blade piercing his scales, hot, viscous blood spurting onto my arms and face as I grunt with each swing through gritted teeth. I taste the copper swirling in my mouth and I know he's done. I slide off his back, panting. I hear a definite twig snap. Too big to be an animal but… too small to be a chupa. At this moment all I care about is catching my breath. I wipe the blood off my face though I know I definitely didn't get all of it and lie in the leaves and dirt, my chest heaving. One down, five to go. This is why I use guns. Who's the queen of bad decisions? This bitch! Yeah you are, cowboy! That's you, hot stuff! You are! What's… Is the ground… Trembling? Huh.

Oh shit.

I spring to my feet and spit the blood out while I yank out the tomahawk and knife and sprint out of the woods. So, apparently, chupacabras are attracted by the scent of ALL blood, just so long as it's on the outside of your body. And since I have a mix of mine and their good pal, I must look delicious. Well, more so than usual. Son of a bitch. I break the edge of the woods and bathe in the moonlight for just a moment then mount Bruce. If they’re following me then I’ll lead them somewhere they don’t wanna go. “YAH!” I push off into a full gallop and head for the mountains. I know they’re chasing (god those noses are strong) so I pace myself enough to stay ahead, enough to make sure they don’t fall behind, and that’s when I see it. A perfectly raised rock formation, only way up by scaling the cliff face. I don’t know about a chupacabra’s climbing ability but every bit of research helps and now seems as good a time as any. Excellent for posing and last standing. Hell yeah. I steam a little further ahead of the chups, tie up Bruce a ways ahead then cycle back and scramble to the top and pull out my lever action. Don’t think stealth is gonna work anymore. They come in fast and I take aim down the face of the outcropping. Turns out they CAN climb pretty good. I mean they ARE lizards of a sort so it tracks. Don’t feel like dragging this out any longer than I gotta, so I wait for it. And wait for it… And waaaait for iiiiittt……. _BLAM!_ The grey matter hasn’t even left the back of the skull before my next shell is chambered and my sights are on the next one. _BLAM!_ Chamber. One’s got to the ledge. Can’t get overwhelmed now. I pivot and deliver a spinning heel kick to its face. Won’t kill it, and neither will the fall but it’ll weaken it and buy me time. As the next one gets to the ledge, I pull out my pistols and slide, blowing two .36 cals right through both its eyes. Its head ruptures and it falls lifeless off the cliff for a satisfying dull thud below. The last one, who was at the back of the pack has made it to the top. Your unlucky day, bucko. I pin it down with my boot, offer a half grin and put his insides on the outsides with the Winchester. Yee, and dare I say it? Haw. The last one still wants the blood off my skin and possibly some of my own, so I take aim and fire down. I stare in shock as he MOVES. He dodges the shell! Impossible! Still, I hit the rock and it gives way under his scaly hand, sending him right back to square one. He sees he’s not winning this and starts to scamper off but I’m not letting that happen. I leap down and roll to cushion my fall then go get Bruce and go after him. Gah, where’d I put that damn lasso- AHA! I got you now… After careful deliberation, I toss the rope, snagging him and it goes taut, pulling him along the dirt. I slow, hop down off the saddle and end him. Finally. chupacabras. Harder than it needed to be, man. As I reload, I notice a figure, way off in the distance, on the valley plains. Definitely human, too far to determine if male or female. For now, they shall simply be a Sentient Patch Of Haze. Oh man, what if they are a sentient patch of haze? I’m gonna have to fight it if it starts causing problems. I don’t know the weaknesses for patches of haze. I raise my hand in greeting and hope they’re friendly. They turn and walk away. Not hurried, not lazy. Measured. They know how long they had to stand there and they know when they had to leave for me to get the message they had to send:

**“I’m watching.”**

Aw, hell. I ain’t haunted, am I? Just what I need, a ghost. Only fought one ghost in my life and it did not go well. They’re too far to catch up with, anyway. I sigh and start collecting the heads of the chupacabras, even the big one. Now, which way back to town?

I need to wash but I think I’m gonna put the fear of me into good mayor Loeb first. I bust down his door, caked in blood and dirt and toss my sack of heads onto the desk. Two spill out and fall in his lap and he screams. “$1000. In cash. I’m gonna clean up, then take my money and be on my way.” I tip my hat and leave. Much higher than I would ask for normally but never underestimate the power of looking like you went through hell. Besides, I like scaring old white men. It gives me a sense of purpose. “Tim.” He nods politely. The bar is empty, save for one or two passed out drunks who decided to make their way home in the morning. Tim is cleaning the last few glasses but offers me a wry smile and pours two shots when he sees me approach. “Ah, the good hunter returns. Looks like you rid the town of our livestock problem. ‘Preciate that. I miss beef.” I laugh. “Wasn’t sure I was comin’ back, I’ll be honest. Say Timmy, you think I could get a bath and my clothes washed? I’ve had… A long day.”

“I’ll have it prepared right away.”

“And a bottle of whiskey sent up as well.”

“Let me guess. You haven’t gotten paid yet.”

“I think your generous mayor will be kind enough to pick up the tab this one time.”

“Ah, I see. I’ll be round in the morning then.”

“After I’ve gone?”

“I’m a busy man. I’m sure by the time I’ve set up for the day, you’ll be halfway to Texas.” I shake a finger and down the shot. “Uh uh. Just come from Texas. On my way to Arizona next.” He raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Scary monsters in Arizona?” I laughed again and headed to my room to wait for my bath. “Scary monsters everywhere, Tim. Just gotta know with rocks to turn.”

The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon when my bath is ready. I grab my notebook and head in, smiling at the soothing bottle. My notebook is a collection of all my monster hunting notes, weaknesses and strengths I’ve noted over the years. Gotta keep my mind sharp as well as my knife and axe. I flip to the chupacabra page. It’s more barren than I remember.

_The chupacabra - literally, chupar “to suck” and cabra “goat” - is a reptilian-like creature that feeds primarily on the blood of goats but other livestock is fair game as well and they definitely don’t shy from humans in a pinch but GOATS are their delicacy of choice. Found all over this fine US of A but mostly down by South America._

_STRENGTHS_

  * _Most are the size of a small bear but can be much bigger or smaller too._


  * Spinal spikes - poisonous (?) I don’t know, they don’t attack with them and I’ve never been hit with them, so I assume no but monsters have a way of pulling nasty surprises on you


  * *SENSE OF SMELL! THEY LOVE BLOOD! THEY LOVE IT!


  * *Good climbers



_WEAKNESSES_

  * _Easy pickings when individual. Rare but watch out for packs, they can really put the hurt on._


  * Regular stuff, bullets, fire, blunt force, stabbing, etc.



_THREAT: LOW_

I close the notebook and sink into the warm water, absentmindedly running my fingers over my chest scars. I don’t know if they’ll ever heal… As I stew, my mind turns to the figure on the valley. Who are they? I like my ghost theory the most, despite the possibility of fighting one, but then again, I’ve met distant people before. Lone wolf types, I get it. You know what you need out of this life. But… If it’s a person, that means they’ve been tracking me. And if that’s the case, since when? From where? And how? Ah. You know what? The water is warm an’ the whiskey is warmer. The Figure is a problem for Future Stephanie.

Morning. My clothes are just slightly damp but otherwise clean and warm. Grab my hat, my guns, my blades, tip my hat to Tim on the way out and get my money from Mr. Mayor. As I approach the edge of town, I see little Tommy Johnson with who I assume are his parents. “Hey. Hey, Tommy! Forests are clear and free now!” He beams at me. “Thank you, Steph!” He remembered my name! Well if that don’t beat all get out! I click my tongue and trot off and with a hearty “YEEHAW!” I push West, wondering what secrets wait for me in the Arizona Territory.

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a short chapter, I know but I think that works in my favour considering I wanna do one chapter for each state and territory in North America that was fully established in 1866 (Hawaii was still an independent kingdom, so 49 chapters, not 50). Still, I'd like em to be a little longer. Who's the Figure On The Valley? Cast your votes!


End file.
